


Torn

by lizthefangirl



Series: Returns [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Drabble, F/M, Speculation, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:00:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15357801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizthefangirl/pseuds/lizthefangirl
Summary: Another potential return of Bellamy to the Valley around 5.11 or 5.12, and his ensuing discussion with Clarke.





	Torn

**Author's Note:**

> For another variation of this scene, check out the previous work in the series. 
> 
> Comments are welcome!

Echo clutched Bellamy for dear life, having sprinted to him the moment he appeared through the trees. He stared over her quaking shoulder—at Clarke.

He only glanced away as he rubbed her back, murmured soothing words; he, Monty, and Harper had defected from the Wonkru army marching to the Valley, given the significant. . .  _distraction_ they'd encountered on the way. All still wore their armor.

Clarke hadn't been able to face his and Echo's former embraces—but she had to, now. Because he was alive. A bit battered, but—

_He's probably dead by now._

"I need to speak to Clarke," Bellamy said quietly to his partner, who stiffened slightly.

That did make Clarke look away—only to meet Madi's sharp eyes, the air of her former accusations still present.  _Fix it,_  her gaze urged.

How the hell could she do that?

Echo's gaze trailed Bellamy as he approached, his wary eyes shifting to Madi, genuine concern written there; Clarke's hand instantly clamped down on her shoulder.

His throat bobbed at the gesture, voice low. "Are you—is it—?"

Madi slipped out from under Clarke's hand in a blur of limbs, quite effectively causing a grown man to stumble a step back as she crashed into him—hugging him fiercely. "I'm fine, Bellamy. I forgive you," she whispered. 

His eyes shone, flickering to Clarke's aghast face, something heavy seeming to roll through him before he carefully returned the embrace, appearing to struggle for a response—

"You should talk now," Madi said as she pulled away, shooting them both her most stern  _Heda_ expression. "Alone."

"Watch the tone, Madi," Clarke warned, sparing him a single glance before turning on her heel and heading to the church—expecting him to follow. He did, stride for stride. 

A million emotions wrought her stomach as they filed into the hollow structure. But before she could settle on which one would color her words, he was speaking. 

"She's not coming back."

Clarke knew who he meant, but Madi's face still bloomed in her mind. The revelations of the Dark Year made her taste bile. He'd know eventually, but. . . now wasn't the time. "You don't say."

"You left me to die."

The statement was far from aggressive, or even spiteful. Stated so plainly. . . Her blood was ice as she slowly turned to him. "You chose your family. I chose mine."

"I know that," he said hoarsely. "I know."

"What do you want, Bellamy? Forgiveness?" The word was like a physical blow to them both, but she persisted, pained. "I don't—I don't know if I—"

"Know that, too," he breathed, hands fidgeting. 

Why was he being so damned  _docile_? Clarke knew she'd been the one telling him to be diplomatic—but the feelings stirring in her. . . She was prepared for a fight.

Being tender would undo her. So she did the opposite, repressing the shame of it.

"Echo and I had a discussion," she said tersely.

He blinked up at this, a hint of worry in his face—and. . . hope? "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she quipped, studying the paneled walls. "She threatened my life. Threatened Madi's life."

She practically heard the air go from his lungs. "She. . . what?"

"Because I left you," Clarke explained drily. "Because as far as she was concerned, if you died, it was on me. And apparently no one else."

He exhaled roughly. "She was scared. I'm sor—"

"She loves you." Quiet words, that stuck to her mouth like cotton. "I get it."

A new coldness kissed the air, his voice lowering. "Why do you say it like that?"

She looked at him, brow narrowing. "What?"

His jaw worked, face torn. "You still don't trust her. Do you?"

The denial was on her lips—but she tasted its falsehood. Couldn't manage it. She glanced away—not quickly enough to miss his eyes flare.

"I don't have to tell you that a lot has changed," he began tightly. "Whatever you're holding against her—that's not  _her,_ anymore, Clarke."

"She's still a spy," she countered quietly, unable to return his gaze. "One of our allies—the pilot, Shaw—she was determined to kill him, even when Raven insisted—"

" _Ally_ _?_ We weren't here, Clarke! You and I don't know these people—"

"I know Raven Reyes," she said. "And believe me, I don't trust easily. Especially the Eligius crew. But I remember him—he was different. She made the right call, and he has been a valuable ally—and Echo still fought her on it. So did John, at first, but she led them—"

"What does that have to do with you or Madi? Since she's all you care about now—" 

"How dare you?" she spat. "How  _dare_ you talk down to me for protecting my child?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't mean—"

"You were the one who let Gaia put that thing in her head!"

" _I didn't have a choice_ , _"_ he bellowed. "You know I didn't! Wonkru wasn't going to follow anyone else."

"You hurt her," she snapped, stalking forward, "You hurt me. That's how it works."

"Better hurting than dead."

"I was _willing_ to die!"

"You thought I was going to let that happen?"

" _Yes_ _!"_ she screamed, arms flying outward. "Yes, because your crazy-ass  _sister_ was on the line, because you have a new family now, because you have—"

Her breath caught, pulse raging in her ears.  

It was too late. He peered at her, chest heaving. "What," he breathed.

She blinked rapidly, her muscles oddly heavy. "It used to be—us. We worked together. In everything," she rasped. "You were my best friend. My partner. I would have killed for you, died for you—for all of you, of course. I almost did."

He stared, face unreadable, eyes still shining. 

"But you," she whispered, voice trembling, "I always needed you. I missed you so much. And I was an idiot to keep hoping you would come home—that it would be anything like before, if you did." She swallowed her tears, hardly hearing herself anymore. "I used my head to survive. I did. Madi was my heart— _is_ my heart. But so are you," she gasped. 

He searched her face, something like broken awe having crossed his. 

But she had said too much. _T_ _oo much_. 

She drew backwards, furiously wiping at her face. "I have to check on Madi."

"Clarke."

" _Please,"_ she begged—hating the way it sounded on her tongue. "Forget what I said to you. Forget it, Bellamy. For me—for you."

Stupid, to think he'd do anything for her, now or ever again.

She was being ripped apart as realization dawned on his face.

He let her stagger past him, hands fisted at his sides, eyes roaming the floor.

"I didn't want you to die," she said at the threshold. "I was afraid, I was pissed. But I didn't want you to die. Echo's right: That would have been my fault."

Mercifully, he didn't turn as she added, "My mistake. . . All those years of hoping, my mistake was that I thought we'd always choose each other. That I could still choose Madi  _and_ you, over everything else. That you could choose us both." She smiled sadly. "I didn't forget the rest of them—not at all. But maybe. . .  maybe I chose to forget them, just a little bit."

 

 

—

 

Anguished tears rolled down Bellamy's face as her hollow footsteps descended the stairs. 

What she was saying to him. . . He could call her a fool. A selfish fool, for the things she'd hoped for. 

But hadn't he been, too?

Not after he thought she died—though he felt selfish in his grief, some days, the way it consumed him. Locked him in his room. 

Before that, though. He'd put her name on that list. He'd planned to somehow keep them all in the bunker—and then on the Ark. All of them, and her. Always apart from the rest. 

She still was separate, now, in a different way. Because for six years, it was only his friends. And then there was her—miraculous, changed, alive. 

When he'd been in that cell, he had thought of his family. Of course he had. Of leaving them, with so little explanation. Leaving Echo. The shame of what he'd done to Clarke had burned in him, too, especially as he remembered entering another cell, their positions reversed. 

But when he'd been in the pit. . .

It wasn't his family in his head. It wasn't the people roaring around him. It wasn't even his sister, as he struggled to breathe, to rise—

It was a girl bent over a body, whispering as she took a life that was his to take.

A girl, her hand small and steady under his, cutting through the resistance of a lever beneath a sea of screens.

A girl, beaming in relief behind the rover's windshield. 

It was a woman, knelt behind armed strangers; and then impossibly in his arms, alive. 

A woman who looked at him with unspeakable hatred. Betrayal. Disappointment.

He had straightened because of adrenaline, instinct. And because he had been wrong.

He had thought he could die while Clarke Griffin hated him, but neither heart or head agreed.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm hoping Echo and Clarke's exchange doesn't go like it does here—because the last thing we need are two more strong female characters at each others' throats over a Dude. . . But it made for an interesting fic. And could be some dang good angst, so I mean. . . I'm in all in at this point.


End file.
